Art Imitating Life
by Lolanae
Summary: Grantaire's friends throw him a birthday party. The morning after he discovers exactly what his present was.


**_This is my version of the headcannon prompt on tumblr about the Amis writing messages on Grantaire while he is drunk. I hope you enjoy it!_**

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The sunlight peeking through the curtains woke Grantaire up with what felt like the stab of an ice pick in his eyeball. With a groan he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head, hoping that sleep would find him again to help battle this apparently epic hangover he had earned himself.

_Never again will I let Courfeyrac and Combeferre mix drinks. I'm a stupid idiot for trusting them._

He closed his eyes tightly, but that only made the pounding in his head worse as the pressure timed perfectly with his pulse.

_Fuck me, I give up._

Grantaire pulled himself out of bed. He might have flipped off the tiny opening in the curtains that allowed the invading sunlight in.

_How the hell did I get in bed last night? Probably Enjolras._

All of the Amis had been over at Grantaire's apartment the night before to celebrate his birthday. He told them that he didn't care, but they insisted. He told them that he really wasn't worth all the fuss, to which Enjolras glared at him and Eponine smacked the back of his head.

_I need to remember to ask them if me getting totally shit face and passing out was the gift I was supposed to get._

Grantaire caught a glimpse of himself in the full length mirror on the back of his bedroom door. He detested the damn thing but seeing as he rented, he couldn't shatter it to a billion pieces.

_Not like I need more bad luck._

He was still fully clothed, but his shoes were off.

_Yeah, Enjolras got my ass in bed. Courfeyrac would have left me passed out in the living room._

Grantaire managed to get sure enough on his feet to walk to the bathroom to shower. When he started to unbutton his shirt, he noticed the colors on his skin. As he kept unbuttoning, brightly colored pictures of hearts and flowers, words and phrases, and swirls of color were revealed. Grantaire went back into his room and shut the door.

_Mirror, you finally have a use._

Grantaire pulled his shirt off and ran his fingers gently over every word and image. His heart warmed. (You are brilliant.) (You draw the most interesting images.) (I love how your brain works.) (You are more than just a drunk.) (You are a great listener when I need it.) (You challenge my every thought, but I wouldn't have you any other way.)

_Enjolras. _

That last phrase was Enjolras' structured, but messy handwriting. He felt the happy tears rolling slowly down his cheek. Being curious (and because he knew how if Enjolras put a plan together, all the Amis followed it through completely), Grantaire took his pants off.

_Dammit, you guys. How drunk did you get me? _

More pictures. More flowers. Thank you messages for things Grantaire had done he had just assumed no one had noticed. In Grantaire's mind, he was only noticed when he drank too much and got too loud. Grantaire walked over to his bedside table to grab his camera. He noticed a note on the bed that he had missed earlier. He opened it and the main body of the note was in Enjolras' handwriting.

**Grantaire –  
None of us could think of a birthday present for you. No, you don't need more art supplies. We thought this present would be best. To turn the artist into a piece of art. To remind him that no matter what he thinks the world sees on the outside, we know what he truly is on the inside. A loyal friend. A passionate artist. A confident. An intelligent man. Someone we wouldn't trade or give up or abandon. We love you, Grantaire, and hope you like your birthday present. Love you, Enjolras  
(And we are sorry for just how drunk we got you to make this happen.) **

Below that, all of his other friends had signed their names and small messages. Grantaire could barely read them through the tears, and he was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He wiped his eyes and sat the note down on the bed before his tears smudge any of the precious writing. Grantaire picked up his camera and took pictures in the mirror. Documenting each message. Each image. Each snippet of happiness and love from his friends. He might have even taken one of his teary smile. The photographs would last long after the ink had washed away.

_Mirror, you've earned your keep just this once._

Grantaire never told his friends about the photographs that he had developed. He kept them in the back of his sketchbooks so he could look at them if he was having a bad day. Enjolras might have seen them once or twice, but he never said if he did. He would just smile to himself knowing he had helped the man he loved. Grantaire loved his birthday gift and his friends. Nothing could ever top what they had given him.


End file.
